The Man of Paris
by LesMisLoony
Summary: COMPLETE! In response to his awareness of the crappiness of the world, Enjolras chooses a different course of action than you would expect. Instead of overthrowing the government he becomes a knight-errant! LM - Man of La Mancha - Monty Python
1. The Enemy

May I set the stage?

We take the reader to the great city of Paris, a year somewhere in the early 1830's. A charming young man called Pierre Enjolras studied law and the general wretchedness of humanity until he knew he must do something about it. He briefly considered overthrowing the government, but decided that that would result in too much bloodshed.

A plan finally formed in our Enjolras's mind. How could he help himself get over the state of society? Why, to fix it!

He took leave of his sanity.

Enjolras became a knight-errant, galloping through the streets of Paris on his nonexistent steed with his trusty squire Grantaire at his side. People looked at him oddly, but he interpreted this as awe.

After all, he was a knight.

"Come along, trusty squire!" Enjolras called over his shoulder.

Grantaire galloped after him, panting. "I'm trying, your gr-" the poor sop tripped over a pebble and went sprawling across the rue.

"What ho? A foe!" Enjolras cried, waving his glinting sword at this agent of the king.

The pebble did nothing in the face of the deadly threat.

"Ah! You show no fear!" he shouted, slicing the enemy into a thousand pieces.

Grantaire pulled himself to his feet, watching his master smack the street with a fire poker. "Your grace," he slurred, "careful you don't put somebody's eye out."

The brave knight laughed. "Don't worry, my Grantaire! You shall not have died in vain!"

"Actually... I'm not quite dead."

Enjolras paused. "Ah," he said at length, "then you shan't have been mortally wounded in vain!"

"I... I think I'm quite all right."

"So brave," Enjolras said, wiping away a tear. "I am not worthy of such a squire."

"Um, your grace? I think that the pebble – that is, the agent of the king – has been sufficiently destroyed. May we continue?" Grantaire asked.

"Oh, of course!"

They took off at a gallop again. Grantaire carefully watched his feet, making sure that he would not trip and inspire another outburst from his master. With his eyes on the ground he did not see Enjolras come to a sudden stop and ran full into him.

"What is it, my lord?" he gasped, picking himself up from the ground.

Enjolras pointed at a lopsided and hideous tenement. "A castle!"

"Um... I see a house."

"You are not looking, my Grantaire. Come, let's have a word with he who is lord of this splendid palace!"

Grantaire sighed, shrugged, and followed him into the building.

* * *

A/N- So... how's it looking? I know that was a sickeningly short chapter, but... I felt like stopping. Don't worry, I won't abandon The New Production or In Your Embrace at Last.


	2. The Lady

A building could be anything – a house, a tavern, or even a castle – depending on who is looking at it. For now, we will take the view of Grantaire and say that their destination was a house.

We now take the reader inside that dirty old house to introduce its occupants.

In one room were a large band of sinister men, some old, some younger, and a girl. This girl was not beautiful, nor was she completely sane. Most of all, this girl was not pure.

"Eponine!" called a young man, grabbing at her arm.

She jerked away. "Not tonight."

"Come on, Montparnasse!" an older man with a beard hissed. "We've got a job to do."

The young man, Montparnasse, shook his head. "I don't want to do a job."

"Well, come along anyway. You can be lookout."

"I don't want to be lookout."

"Well, what do you want?" the elder man demanded.

Montparnasse glanced at Eponine. "I... just... want... to..."

"No, no! None of that!" Eponine cried. "We've got to maintain a PG rating, now!"

The young thief sighed and sat down.

Something that sounded rather like a duck call trumpeted from in the hall. The older man with a beard, who we shall call Jondrette, looked up quickly. "Cops!" someone hissed nervously, but old Jondrette shook his head. "I've never to this day heard of a cop what quacked."

A voice from the hallway announced: "Sir Enjolras the brave requests the noble lord of this castle supply him with room and board, for he is weary and in need of rest."

Jondrette looked at the other men, who all shrugged their shoulders. He slowly went over to the door and opened it to reveal two men, one with a fireplace poker hanging at his side.

We shall now inform the reader that Jondrette was once an innkeeper, and old habits are not quick to die. He invited the men into his room. The tall blond man looked around and nodded. "A fine estate, my lord," he said grandly.

Jondrette raised an eyebrow as the man settled himself in the room's only armchair. The man with him, a fellow who did not seem to be quite sober, tapped Jondrette on the arm and whispered, "Do you mind? It would be good of you just to allow him..."

"S'fine," Jondrette muttered. "Ponine... bring the man a drink."

Eponine found a bottle of absinthe and held it out for Enjolras, who glanced at it, then up at her face. He gasped and leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Eponine over backwards and sending the bottle out of her hand and flying through the air.

Grantaire caught it.

Eponine did not notice the fate of the absinthe. She was too busy being worried about why the crazy man was gasping and gazing at her like that.

"My lady!" he cried.

Eponine looked afraid, Grantaire looked nervous, Jondrette looked confused, and Montparnasse looked highly irritated.

"Your what?" Eponine asked.

"Sweet lady! Fair virgin!"

Montparnasse snorted.

"Please," Enjolras continued, "what is your name?"

"Erm... Eponine."

"My lady jests!"

"I what?"

"Eponine! That is the name of an innkeeper's daughter!"

"That would be correct, monsieur."

"That cannot be your true name, my lady."

"Alright then, what is my name?"

Enjolras rubbed his chin. "Your name... my lady... is... Patria!"


	3. The Plot

We shall now remember that our Enjolras has a past, and there are those that worry for him. In his sanity, during the time he was planning to overthrow the government, Enjolras and some of his close friends (among which was Grantaire) had formed a little group known as Les Amis de l'ABC, a pun at which it would not be wise to laugh.

During this time one of these friends, a Marius Pontmercy, had begun planning his wedding. He wanted to invite all of Les Amis, but the idea of a knight-errant and his squire attending did not suit his grandfather, nor, to be completely honest, Marius and his future wife, Cosette Fauchelevant.

Along with several of Les Amis, Marius and Cosette went to the chapel to consult with a priest. They planned to confess their prejudices so that they could invite Enjolras and Grantaire to their wedding without second thought.

On the way, however, a cloud in the sky suddenly opened. Angels sang and Cosette, a convent girl, shielded her eyes from what must be the glory of God.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, CHILDREN?" boomed a voice.

Marius, knees shaking, stepped forward. "To the confessional, my Lord. We are guilty of prejudice against our friends."

"DOST THOU MEAN THAT ODD LITTLE ENJOLRAS CHAP?"

"Well... yes. How did you know?"

Cosette poked him. "He's God, dear."

"Ah, right."

"THAT ENJOLRAS NEEDS TO BE CURED!"

Marius looked at his wife and friends. "Well, we're only thinking of him."

"Woe!" Cosette sighed.

The rift in the clouds closed and the music of angels ground to a halt.

"But wait!" Marius cried, "how are we to cure Enjolras?"

Cosette tugged at his sleeve. "I have an idea, my dear."

Marius leaned in to listen as Les Amis huddled round.

* * *

A/N- I don't know, I guess I just feel like the chapters should be short so I'll have enough to make this a legit fic. As to Eponine being a super-duper romantic name, you are absolutely right, of course, but Enjolras is insane, so I'll let it slip. Good point, though.


	4. The Token

Back at the tenement – that is, the castle – the lady was helping her father with the spelling of a few letters he was laboring over in the corner. When someone tapped her shoulder, she murmured, "In a minute, 'Parnasse..."

"My lady?"

She turned to see the squire, that is, Grantaire.

"What now?"

"I... I have a letter for you," he stammered.

"Let's have it, then," said Eponine, holding out a hand.

Grantaire seemed a little ashamed. "Well, I... er..."

"I can read, I can," Eponine said. "So let's have it."

"It... it isn't written out, my lady... I... I have it in my head."

"In your head?" she asked, apparently misinterpreting.

"Yes, my lord bids me recite it for you."

She sneezed and wiped her nose on a handkerchief, which she shoved back into her pocket.

"Bless you."

"Thanks. But I don't quite want the whole room-" she glanced at Montparnasse, who was not doing a good job of concealing the fact that he was listening in, "to hear what your master has to say."

Grantaire nodded and trotted back across the room to Enjolras, who was sitting on the edge of the armchair. He whispered something, shrugged, and Enjolras whispered something back. Grantaire came back over to Eponine and said, "My lady, can my master borrow some pen and paper?"

"Papa?"

Jondrette waved his hands at them, and Eponine gave him a sheet of coarse, yellow paper and a pen and inkwell. Grantaire crossed the room again and passed these to Enjolras, who made a motion with his hands. The squire sighed and turned around so that Enjolras could use his back as a surface to lean on as he wrote. A few moments passed, the only noise in the room Enjolras's pen scratching on the paper and Montparnasse impatiently tapping his foot. After a while one of the thugs crossed the room to Jondrette, who was waiting for his pen to be returned him, and began whispering.

Enjolras at last finished and rolled the paper, produced a ribbon and an arrow from his pocket, and tied it to the arrow's shaft. Grantaire passed him a bow, and the knight took shaky aim at the little group on the other side of the room.

"Heads up," Montparnasse called, but it was too late. Enjolras released the string and sent the arrow whizzing across the room and deep into the back of the thug who was conversing with Jondrette.

"Letter for you, 'Ponine," he gasped before collapsing onto the floor.

Jondrette glared at the visitors. "Give me back my pen and ink!"

"Right," Grantaire called back, taking these from Enjolras and returning across the room.

Eponine, meanwhile, had taken the missive out of the thief's back and unrolled it, and was carefully reading it, her lips moving.

She looked up. "Kiss my which?"

Montparnasse's eyes widened.

"The nethermost hem of your garment," Enjolras replied.

Montparnasse relaxed.

She returned to the letter.

"'Token of my fair esteem...' What kind of token?"

"Generally," Grantaire said, "it's a silken scarf."

She laughed and again produced the handkerchief. "Here, give him this."

"But, my lady, that's a rag!"

"Do I look like I'd have a silken scarf? Tell me, why do you follow this man around like you do?"

"Oh, that's easy to explain! I... I..."

"Why?"

"I'm telling you. It's because... because..."

"_Why?_"

Grantaire shrugged. "I like him. I _really_ like him."

Eponine's eye twitched as the squire crossed the room again.

"That's not right," Montparnasse muttered.

* * *

A/N- Heh. This story was really meant to be LM/Man of La Mancha, but the Monty Python references just seem to fit right in. I am, however, a little worried I'll run out of them before I finish the fic... I'm trying to get one into each chapter, just to see what happens.


	5. The Visitor

The next morning there was a knock on the door, and Jondrette quickly opened it. A thin young man was standing in the hallway, something white and fluffy in his hand. "Hello, monsieur," he said softly. "Is En- that is, Sir Enjolras here?"

"Prouvaire!" Grantaire called, jumping to his feet. "How did you find us?"

The young man frowned. "I'm not entirely sure. Oh, hullo, Enjolras, I came to show you-"

He began to hold out the aforementioned white and fluffy thing. "Mon Dieu! Where didst thou find it?" Enjolras exclaimed.

"Find it?" the young man repeated. "No, I made it. I came to show you I learned how to knit, and this is a pretty white scarf! I was thinking I could knit all of Les Amis matching red vests!"

"Knitting! Knowst thou not what this really is?"

"It's my scarf."

"No, of course not! It's the evil bunny of Caerbannog! Trusty squire, stand back! Do not worry, my lady, I shall protect you!"

Eponine did not respond, for she was still asleep. Her father poked her in the ribs, and she sat up quickly.

The young man looked nervously from Enjolras to Grantaire.

"Don't worry, Jehan," Grantaire muttered. "Just give him the rabbit."

"But it's not a rabbit!"

"Art thou on the side of that bunny of doom?" Enjolras demanded.

"Give it to him, Jehan."

Enjolras reached for his sword, that is, the fireplace poker at his side.

"Here!" Jehan said, tossing him the scarf.

"Mon Dieu!" Enjolras screeched as the scarf landed on his head. "It has attacked me!" And he fell on the floor in a panic, wrestling with his foe.

Eponine watched him sleepily from the corner.

"Grantaire..." Jehan whispered nervously, "I thought Marius was lying when he said Enjolras went crazy..."

"Nope. Just play along; it's more fun that way."

"MY LEG!"

Jehan shuddered. "I'm leaving. Tell Enjolras he can have the scarf."

"Bye then."


	6. The Gift

Jondrette gathered several of the Patron-Minette to his side and began to whisper with them.

"Did you see that boy that just left?"

"With the scarf?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"The state of his frocks."

"What about them?"

"Do you not think he was rich?"

"Uh… I dunno."

"Was he rich, Jondrette?"

"Who do you suppose he is, this knight fellow? Do you suppose he's rich?"

"Dunno."

"He might be."

"I know just how to find out… but I'd have to leave the room. Don't let him escape," Jondrette whispered. "Deux-Milliards, guard the door."

The insignificant Deux-Milliards nodded.

"Regard, noble squire!" Enjolras cried, holding Jehan's scarf out for Grantaire to see.

"S'lovely."

Enjolras beamed. "I have vanquished the evil rabbit-monster and created of its hide… a scarf!"

"Yes, it's very nice, Sir Enjolras."

"Well," Jondrette said loudly, "I need to go stretch my legs." He started toward the door and whispered to Deux-Milliards, "Make sure the knight doesn't leave this room until I come and get him."

Deux-Milliards nodded. "He's not to leave the room even if you come and get him."

"No, no," Jondrette hissed, "_Until_ I come and get him."

"Until you come and get him, I'm not to enter the room."

"No, no. No. You stay in the room and make sure he doesn't leave."

"And you'll come and get him."

"Right." Jondrette turned to go.

"I don't need to do anything apart from just stop him entering the room," Deux-Milliards said proudly.

"No, no," Jondrette corrected, "Leaving the room."

"Leaving the room. Yes."

"All right?" Jondrette asked.

"Right," said Deux-Milliards.

"Right." Again Jondrette put a hand on the door.

"Oh, if… if… if, uh… if… if… uh… if… if I-"

"Yes? What is it?"

Deux-Milliards frowned. "Oh, i-if… uh…"

"Look, it's quite simple," Jondrette said patiently.

"Uh..."

"You just stay here and make sure he doesn't leave the room. All right?"

Deux-Milliards seemed pensive.

"Right," said Jondrette.

"Oh, I remember. Uh, can he leave the room with me?"

"N-no, no. No. You just keep him in here and make sure he-"

"Oh, yes. I'll keep him in here, obviously, but if he had to leave and I were with him-"

"No, no, no, no. Just keep him in here-"

"Until you or anyone else-"

"No, not anyone else. Just me."

"Just you."

"Get back."

"Get back."

"All right?"

"Right," Deux-Milliards said. "I'll stay here until you get back."

Jondrette nodded. "And, uh, make sure he doesn't leave."

Deux-Milliards started. "What?"

"Make sure he doesn't leave."

"The knight?"

"Yes. Make sure he doesn't leave."

"Oh, yes, of course," Deux-Milliards nodded.

"Is that clear?"

"Oh, quite clear. No problems."

"Right." Jondrette said at last. He opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Deux-Milliards followed him.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm coming with you."

"No, no. I want you to stay here and make sure he doesn't leave."

"Oh, I see. Right," said Deux-Milliards. He returned to his post as Jondrette left the room.

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. "Dunno why he didn't ask me to do it."

"Because you'd kill him," Babet muttered.

"Kill who?"

"The knight."

"No, I wouldn't. Why would I do that?"

Babet pointed to the other side of the room, where Enjolras was making Eponine a present of the scarf. The latter seemed very pleased with this gift and was beaming at the former.

"I wish thee wear it in health, my lady Patria," he was saying.

Eponine scowled. "That's not my name."

"To each his Patria," Grantaire whispered.

The girl shrugged, then turned to Enjolras. "Why do you do the things you do?"

"What things, my lady Patria?"

"Um… pretend to be a knight?"

"Gasp!" Enjolras shouted. "Pretend, sayst-thee? Pretend? I am a true servant of the greater good! A dreamer of the impossible dream! A fighter of the unbeatable foe! A bearer of the unbearable sorrow! I run where the brave dare not go!"

"Right," sighed Eponine.

There was a loud, ominous knock on the door.


	7. The Mission

A/N- For the record, the bandit that got killed was Kruideniers, alias Bizarro. And as to Enjolras being called Pierre, that's just my name for him. Author(esse)s give him (and all of Les Amis) their own personal nicknames. Some call him Raphael, some call him Julien... me, I like Pierre. Although I may end up calling him Marc someday... _-wanders off into Words of Love land-

* * *

_

There was a loud, ominous knock at the door. Enjolras and Grantaire glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. The knock was repeated, and everyone looked patiently at Deux-Milliards.

"Yes?"

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. "Open the door."

"No, no! I'm not to let anyone in until you leave!" Deux-Milliards said loudly. "That was a good try, though."

Montparnasse frowned, and Babet leaned over and whispered something into his ear. "Right," Montparnasse said to him. Turning back to Deux-Milliards, he said, "But I have left, sir!"

"Have you?"

"Yes, I have! So go ahead and open the door, because it might be me!"

"But it might not be you."

"But it might be."

Deux-Milliards scratched his chin. "I suppose you're right," he said at length. "But wait! How do I know you aren't really in here, trying to trick me into thinking you're out there, so I'll open the door and you can get in?"

There was a very, very long pause.

The knock was repeated.

Montparnasse closed his gaping mouth. He had been trying to work out Deux-Milliards' statement, but had finally given up. "Just open the door! Please!"

"That was all you had to say," Deux-Milliards said, smiling foppishly. He pulled the door open to reveal a curious sight.

Four men were crowded into the hallway, all of them dressed in a manner similar to Enjolras – fireplace pokers hanging at their sides, bits of iron tied over their chests – and all of them had their faces hidden under various articles – ripped cloth, flower pots, or just blacked with soot.

The smallest man, who seemed somehow familiar to the Patron-Minette, held two coconut shells in his hands.

"Sir Enjolras!" one of the men said loudly. "Where is Sir Enjolras?"

The blond knight leapt to his feet. "Here, sirs, is your Sir Enjolras! What do you ask of me?"

"We have a mission for you," the man said solemnly. Enjolras went to speak with them, and the Patron-Minette huddled on the other side of the room.

"I know the môme with the coconuts," said Gueulemer.

The entire gang looked up the thin man, then returned to the huddle.

"So do I," Babet muttered.

Montparnasse leaned up again, then back down. "Isn't it the boy with the scarf? You know…" he pointed to Eponine, who was sitting very quietly in the corner. She was watching Enjolras, fingering the white scarf he had given her. "The rabbit-scarf boy."

Everyone leaned up and glanced at the man in question, then back down.

"It is him," Carmagnolet said softly.

Montparnasse chewed pensively on his lower lip, and Babet asked, "Well, what d'you think that means?"

"Well," said the cloaked Claquesous, "the squire seemed to know him. So he must be a friend of theirs."

"What d'you think that means?" Babet said again.

The others shrugged.

"What're you whispering about?" Grantaire said from right behind them.

The bandits all jumped and returned to their separate parts of the room. Montparnasse went over to Eponine and poked her.

"Go away," she said.

"I don't want to go away."

"Then leave me alone."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"Then what do you want?" she asked impatiently.

"I… just… want… to-"

"Hush, hush, I remember now!" she said quickly. "No, not now. I don't wanna."

"I wanna!"

"I don't. Go on, then."

Montparnasse scowled at sat down next to her. "What'll you do if I don't, sic your knight on me with his poker?"

"I just might," she said.

Montparnasse looked at the fireplace poker at Enjolras's side and, realizing that it was quite sharp, left Eponine alone.

Meanwhile, the four mysterious knights were telling Enjolras of a threatening foe they had encountered near Notre-Dame, and how he had slain one of their companions. For further proof, they pointed to the window on the other side of the room.

Enjolras and the four men crossed to the window and look out. In the street stood two more mysterious knights, guarding a funeral bier. A man lay there, covered in a black cloth, but Enjolras could distinctly make out his form. A young lady in mourning accompanied these men.

"What do you ask of me, my lords?" he said gravely.

They looked at each other, then the bald one with his entire head blacked spoke. "The day after tomorrow, where will you be?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Here, I guess."

"The foe is rumored to be on the… uh… at Austerlitz then. He will be… uh… killing people with his massive forces."

"Have no fear, my lords!" Enjolras cried. "Your comrade shall not have died in vain!"

"Good," another of the men said. A shock of black, curly hair was just visible through a tear in his hood. "We shall rely on you, my good sir."

Enjolras returned to Grantaire and Eponine as these men left the room in a patter of hoofbeats. Les-Pieds-en-l'Air (another insignificant), curious, followed them into the hall.

"Hang on!"

The men stopped and turned to face him.

"Where'd you come from?"

They exchanged nervous glances. "We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of a knight who will vanquish our dreaded foe," one said.

"What? Ridden on a horse?"

"Yes!"

"You're using coconuts!"

"What?"

"You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're banging them together," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air insisted.

"So?"

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air in shrugged, then said, "Where'd you get the coconuts?"

"We found them."

"Found them? In Paris? The coconut's tropical!"

The bald man cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said matter-of-factly, "this is a temperate zone."

"Da swallow bay fly south with the sud or the house bartin or the plover bay seek warber clibates id widter, yet these are dot stradgers to our land," stated a man who seemed to have a cold.

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air thought about this. "Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?"

"Nod ad all. They could be carried."

"What? A swallow carrying a coconut?"

"It could grip it by the husk!" cried the thin man with the coconut shells.

"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five-ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said impatiently.

"Well, it doesn't matter," the curly-haired man sighed. He began to leave.

"Listen. In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?"

"Please!"

"Am I right?"

"I'm not interested!" The men began to leave, but Les-Pieds-en-l'Air followed them doggedly.

"It could be carried by an African swallow!"

"Oh, yeah," the man with the cold said, "ad Africad swallow baybe, but dot a Eurobead swallow."

"That's my point," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air nodded.

"Oh, yeah, I agree with thad."

"Will you come on?" the curly-haired man hissed at the other.

"But then of course," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said knowledgeably, "African swallows are non-migratory."

"Oh, yeah..." the mysterious knight agreed.

"So, they coudidt bring a cocodut back adyway..."

The other three men, impatient, left, accompanied by the thin man's coconut shell clopping.

"Wait a bidute!" the mysterious knight said. "Subbosig two swallows carried it together?"

"No, they'd have to have it on a line." Les-Pieds-en-l'Air frowned.

"Well, sibple! Dey'd just use a strand of creeper!"

"What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"

"Well, why dot?" The masked man looked around. "Oh, of course they left. BARIUS! GET BACK HERE OR TRADSBITTIG BY FLU TO YOU!" he shouted, running after his comrades.

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air shrugged to himself and went back to the garret to find that the door was locked.

He knocked.

No answer.

"DEUX-MILLIARDS, LET ME IN!" he shouted.


	8. The Dubbing

Monsieur Jondrette returned later to find Les-Pieds-en-L'Air with his head resting against the door.

"Why're you out here?" the good man asked.

The bandit quickly told of how he had come to be locked out of the room, and, much to his consternation, Jondrette laughed. The former innkeeper knocked on the door and cried, "Deux-Milliards! Open up, now!" and the door was opened.

Jondrette and Les-Pied-en-L'Air returned to the room to find their guest pacing up and down, muttering to himself. His squire and his lady sat against the wall, staring up at him.

"Ah!" Enjolras cried upon sighting Jondrette, "Your lordship has returned!"

Jondrette seemed nervous. "I have."

"My lord… I have been given a quest."

"So you'll be leaving, then?" Montparnasse eagerly interrupted.

Enjolras laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Have no fear, good serf, for I shall not accept the quest."

Montparnasse could do nothing but splutter, and Jondrette demanded, "What? Why not?"

Enjolras beckoned the man come closer and whispered into his ear; "I… have never been knighted."

"What?" Jondrette said again.

"Shh!" he hissed. "It's true. Could you… my lord… could you knight me?"

"If I… ahem… If I knight you, do you promise to accept the quest?" Jondrette asked carefully.

"Of course, my lord!" Enjolras assured him.

Jondrette nodded slowly. "Then I'll do it."

"Huzzah!" Enjolras cried, and Grantaire leapt to his feet. "Now we must prepare." The soon-to-be-knighted knight glanced around the room. "But… my lord, where is your sword?"

Glancing at the poker hung at Enjolras's side, Jondrette indicated to his own fireplace poker on the other side of the room.

"Oy, you!" Grantaire cried, pointing to a figure by the fireplace. "Old woman!"

"Man!" the figure replied irritably.

"Man," Grantaire corrected himself. "Sorry. Can you bring us that… that sword, there?"

The man was silent for a moment. "I'm thirty-seven," he said sulkily.

"I… What?"

"I'm thirty-seven," he repeated. "I'm not old."

"Well," Grantaire sighed, "I can't just call you 'Man'!"

"You could say 'Mangedentelle.'"

"Well, I didn't know you were called 'Mangedentelle," Grantaire said.

"And you didn't bother to find out, did you?"

"I did say 'sorry' about the 'old woman', but with all those rags you looked-"

"What is it you want?" Mangedentelle demanded.

"Just the, uh, fireplace poker… there," said Grantaire, pointing.

Mangedentelle passed Grantaire the poker, who then handed it to Enjolras, who passed it to Jondrette. "Now what?" the former innkeeper asked.

Enjolras got on his knees in front of the man. "Now your lordship knights me."

"And then you'll go on your quest?"

"I shall at the first light of dawn tomorrow."

"Good," Jondrette sighed. He touched both of Enjolras's shoulders with the poker and said, "Um… Enjolras de Paris… I hereby dub thee knight."

"Your lordship!" Enjolras protested.

"What now?"

"It is customary for your lordship to grant a new knight another name, if your lordship could devise such a name for me."

Jondrette stared at him for a moment. "All right, then... hail knight of the marbled countenance."

Beaming, Enjolras got back to his feet. "Did you hear, my squire? My lady? I have been dubbed Knight of the Marbled Countenance."

Grantaire nodded. "It suits you," Eponine murmured, smiling dreamily.

Montparnasse glowered at them all.


	9. The Bait

A/N- I seem to notice a waning interest… oh well. I put this chapter off for a long time because it doesn't quite work with the lighthearted parody thing. That's how the play goes, though… No Monty Python-isms here, I'm afraid...

* * *

The next morning Sir Enjolras, knight of the Marbled Countenance, and his trusty squire left to find the foe of the mysterious men. As soon as the door was closed Montparnasse went over to Eponine and poked her.

"Now?"

She shook her head.

"Come on!"

"No…"

"Why not?"

She frowned at him.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"I want to."

"I don't."

Montparnasse huffed and crossed his arms. When Eponine ignored him he went over to Babet and whispered something in his ear. Babet glanced over at Eponine, who was no longer paying attention to them, and whispered something back to Montparnasse. The two went out into the hall.

Time passed, in which nothing in particular happened.

The door was flung open, and Montparnasse returned. "Eponine!" he cried, breathless, "I thought you should be the first to know!"

All the assorted thieves and murderers looked up, and Eponine got to her feet. "Know what?"

"Babet robbed a man and killed him… I think it was the knight…"

"Sir Enjolras?" Eponine asked anxiously.

Montparnasse nodded. "Come quick!"

She left the room with him. A moment later Babet slipped back into the room, a satisfied smile on his face, but no blood on his hands or knife.


	10. The Mirrors

A/N- Yay, I'm not entirely unloved. "Crazy Stalker Person," you must review. This fic, I must add, is drawing to a close. AND my apologies for the lack of Monty Python references in this chapter and the previous. The show kinda takes a turn for serious here, so they just didn't fit anymore.

* * *

Sir Enjolras and his squire galloped through the rues of Paris in search of the evil one. Grantaire saw a thin form huddled in the corner, and, upon recognizing Eponine, pointed this out to his lord.

Enjolras started toward her, and, upon realizing that she seemed quite upset over something, called, "My lady! What causes thy tears?"

Eponine looked blearily up at him.

"My lady?"

"Stop it!" she suddenly shouted. "I am not your lady!"

"But my-"

"I am not any kind of lady!"

"Patria-"

"Just stop! Look at yourself! Look at me! Look at him!"

Enjolras did as she said.

"I'm the daughter of a thief, he's a drunkard, and you! You are nothing, monsieur, but a loon!" She scrambled to her feet and fled.

"A loon...?" Enjolras repeated dazedly.

A terrible clanking sound distracted him. Grantaire gasped, and Enjolras saw a knight in black armor approaching them, surrounded by at least half a dozen others.

"SIR ENJOLRAS!" boomed a voice.

"Get back," the blond knight whispered to his squire.

Again the voice addressed him.

"Are you the evil killer of innocence and youth?" Enjolras called shakily.

The knight laughed, and his army laughed with him. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY CALL ME, SIR ENJOLRAS?"

"I do not."

"THEY CALL ME... THE KNIGHT... OF MIRRORS!"

The black knight and his men brandished their shields, which seemed to consist completely of looking glasses. The men laughed again, and Enjolras saw hundreds of blond lunatics staring at him, mouths agape.

"LOOK AT YOURSELF, PIERRE ENJOLRAS! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A MADMAN WITH A FIREPLACE POKER!"

Enjolras's head began to spin. Certainly the idiot in the mirrors was not himself! He let out a strangled yell and charged at them, only to see the lunatics yelling and charging exactly as he did. Still the men laughed darkly and the fools in the mirror began to look dazed. Hundreds of Grantaires rushed forward to comfort all the idiots as one of the knights with a blacked out face began to inspect his tongue in his shield. Enjolras pulled away as Grantaire seized his shoulder and again tried to charge the enemy, only to find himself behind a glass. The laughter echoed in his ears and the reflections whirled around him and, at the height of the tumult, everything went black.


	11. The Finale

A/N- This is the last chapter! Wow, what a shame. And it has such a crappy ending! Must stick to the show, I suppose. Ah well, look for Into the Streets, a fic of the same genre by me.

* * *

Time passed.

Perhaps a month later, Eponine was out on an errand from her father. As she passed through an alley, she tripped over a drunkard in her path. The sordid girl got to her feet and turned to curse at the man, only to find that she knew him.

"My lady!" he gasped.

She could not help but smile. "Grantaire?"

"Yes, Lady Patria! How are you?"

"I'm well, Grantaire. Yourself?"

"I get along."

"And Sir Enjolras? How is he?"

A shadow passed across Grantaire's face. "He is not well."

"But why?" demanded Eponine. "What happened?"

"He is ill, my lady. We fear the worst."

"Where is he? Can you take me to him?"

Grantaire sighed. "He would not know you, my lady. He has changed."

"What do you mean, changed?" Eponine asked.

"The knight-errantry, quests... even his dream... He has forgotten them all. Everything his other friends term 'insanity.'"

"He's... he's sane?"

"I'm afraid so. And ill as well."

"Please, Grantaire, take me to him!"

The former squire slowly stood. "Very well, follow me. But do not say that I haven't warned you."

* * *

Several young men were grouped in the foyer, and Eponine recognized the mysterious knights who had come to her home with Enjolras's quest. The dark-haired man and a young lady Eponine assumed to be his wife stood in the doorway.

"So you're back, are you?" one of the men asked Grantaire. "The doctor is in there even now, and he doesn't want you to bring any of your ridiculous talk to poor Enjolras."

"I haven't brought my ridiculous talk," said Grantaire. "I've brought a friend to see him."

The thin doctor emerged from the inner room, shaking his head gravely. "No improvement," he said to the dark-haired man. "It's as if he needs a medicine I cannot give him."

"Oh, Marius!" the girl said. "All this because we wanted him to come to our wedding!"

"Hush, my dear," Marius sighed. "We can do nothing for him now."

Grantaire approached the doctor with Eponine in tow. "Your reverence," he said mildly, "Could I talk to him?"

The doctor sighed. "He won't hear you."

"Then I shan't say much."

The doctor stepped aside and the squire and lady entered their lord's chamber.

Pierre Enjolras lay on a bed by the window, and he gazed silently at the sky.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Enjolras?"

"What now, winecask?" he asked irritably.

"I have... I have a visitor here to see you."

Enjolras did not move. "Very well."

"My lord?" Eponine ventured.

He turned his head. "Why do you say 'my lord,' girl? I am not a lord."

"But you are! You are _my_ lord, Sir Enjolras de Paris, Knight of the Marbled Countenance!"

"Knight of the Marbled Countenance?"

"Yes!"

"And you," Enjolras asked, "Who are you, unfortunate child?"

"I am Eponine!"

He shook his head. "I know no one by this name."

"You once called me Patria..."

Enjolras's eyes seemed to brighten, and he slowly repeated the word. "Patria."

Eponine knelt at his side. "Patria," she said again. "Once you found a girl and called her Patria..."

"A name which angels seem to whisper," murmured Enjolras.

Grantaire stepped forward. "My lord!"

"_Your_ lord?"

"Yes," Eponine said. "You, my lord, are Sir Enjolras! A true servant of the greater good! A dreamer of the impossible dream! A righter the unrightable wrong! A fighter of the unfightable foe! A bearer of the unbearable sorrow! You run-"

"Where the brave dare not go!" Enjolras cried, sitting upright.

"My lord!" Eponine and Grantaire gasped.

"But what is this, my lady?" said Enjolras. "On your knees... to me? This is not seemly!" He pulled her to her feet, then climbed out of the bed.

Enjolras stood in his dressing gown beside the drunkard and the girl. "But what are we doing here? Trusty squire?"

"Here, your grace!" Grantaire screeched.

"What of the foes we have yet to vanquish? What am I doing here? Where is my sword?" And, upon spying his weapon by the fireplace, Enjolras began to charge toward it.

"My lord, you are not well!" shouted Eponine, but it was too late.

Enjolras clutched at his chest, stumbled, and fell. Grantaire and Eponine rushed to his side, turning him over.

The squire looked up at Eponine, his eyes wide. "He is dead," he whispered. "My master is dead."

Eponine gazed at the knight's face for a moment, then raised her eyes to the ceiling. "A man died, yes. A brave young man. But Sir Enjolras de Paris is not dead." She got to her feet and left the room. Grantaire hurried after her, catching up on the street outside.

"Mademoiselle Eponine!" he panted. "Where are you going?"

She slowly turned to him.

"Eponine?"

She shook her head. "My name... is Patria," she said solemnly.

And she was gone.


End file.
